


Thoroughbred

by getoffmyhead



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Horse Geno, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26681731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmyhead/pseuds/getoffmyhead
Summary: Sully gestured at the horse. It nickered, high and distressed, and took another step toward Sid. The length of its strides brought it within touching distance."This. The horse," Sully continued. "It's Geno."
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 92





	Thoroughbred

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: a man gets turned into a horse and then there's sex stuff. No fictional animals were harmed in the making of this fic.
> 
> I would like to thank sevenfists for betaing and blame al-the-remix for encouraging this. I appreciate the enabling!

Any other day, Sid might not have noticed the water seeping out from under the locker room doors as he approached before a game. It wasn’t a lot, only a splash, as though someone had spilled a water bottle there. Even if he _had_ noticed, he might not have thought anything about it.

The day they played the Vegas Golden Knights, however, Sid noticed and slowed. He put a palm cautiously on the door and pushed on it. A wave of distant, excited chatter from inside hit his ears, but nothing wet. He cast his eyes up, searching suspiciously for a bucket or a water balloon.

Two dagger-like fingers dug into Sid’s ribs. Yelping, he surged forward away from the unseen tickler and through the door. A pop of muted thunder sounded over Sid’s head, and a gush of cold water drenched him.

Dripping in the roaring laughter of his teammates, Sid glared up above him. A tiny rain cloud emitted a three-inch zap of lightning. He shook his head. Water flew off the tips of his no-longer-gelled hair.

“Hi Flower,” he said, deadpan, to the door. It had swung closed behind him while he fled into the rain.

The door cracked open and Flower’s head popped through, grinning. “How did you know?”

Sid didn’t answer that, instead turning a flat look at his own team, the handful of players who had beat him inside. He comforted himself by noticing that they all had wet hair.

Whichever equipment manager deigned to allow Flower’s prank to stay put had at least placed a bunch of towels nearby. Sid grabbed for one before he thought of the perfect revenge. Dropping the towel, he lurched toward Flower for a soaking wet hug.

Flower’s eyes got wide when he realized what Sid wanted. He tried to back off, saying, “Don’t you want to dry off a little first before you—”

Sid caught him and yanked him close, pressing the saturated wool of his suit firmly against Flower’s chest.

Flower huffed and squirmed fruitlessly. “I am already in warmups, cow.”

“Sucks to be you, I guess,” Sid said, hugging tighter the more Flower struggled. When he finally let go, he was pleased to see how much of his unexpected downpour had transferred to Flower’s sweats. When they locked eyes, Flower’s baleful glare and Sid’s intentional smugness melted away, replaced with genuine smiles. “This is how you say hi now? With magic?”

“You’re the enemy,” Flower said, still grinning as he shrugged. “Are you coming out after the game?”

“In Pittsburgh?” Sid said doubtfully. “With _you_?”

It was both a teasing jab and a real expression of concern. Sid avoided going out in the city—too much attention, especially if he went with his former teammate. Pittsburgh loved Flower more than anyone. After a game, Sid wanted to go somewhere private and drop his public face, not go take pictures with every twenty-something in a nightclub.

Flower shook off Sid’s rudeness. “Yes, you are.”

“Says who?”

“Geno,” Flower said with a sly grin. Sid’s heart swooped away from the dagger—Flower knew exactly where to stab. “He’s coming.”

“That worked when I was twenty,” Sid said, lowering his voice away from potentially prying ears. Unlike most of Sid’s current bunch of teammates, Flower remembered a time when Geno could be used as a carrot to entice Sid practically anywhere. Back then, Sid would perk up at the promise of Geno’s company outside of an ice rink and eagerly agree to whatever they were planning, a fact Flower took full advantage of once he figured out Sid’s infatuation extended beyond hockey skills. 

But that was a decade ago. Sid had long gotten his puppy love under control. He no longer dorkily gushed about Geno’s soft hands or retold his jokes or beamed when a reporter praised his in-game achievements. The reality behind Flower’s teasing had faded, leaving him powerless and grasping at nothing more than an old, dead crush.

Or so Sid told himself. Flower obviously didn’t buy it, leering as he said, “It works even better now.”

“You really think he’s going to listen to you after his own private thunderstorm?” Sid asked, nodding up at the cloud. It grew darker by the second, gathering energy for the next squall.

With a beleaguered sigh, Flower raised a hand and snapped his long fingers. The cloud shimmered, spun around, and brightened. It became a happy little puff of white above the door for a moment before it slowly spread into a high fog and dissipated entirely.

Flower quirked an eyebrow up cockily as Geno shoved into the room, removing his sunglasses. He slowed down at the sight of them, eyes flicking to Flower and brightening before they turned to Sid and became concerned.

“Why you wet?” Geno asked.

“A small disagreement,” Flower said before Sid could rat him out. “Sid says he won’t come dance with us—what will you do about that?”

Geno snorted. “No, you come,” he said to Sid, a pronouncement that might as well have been law for all that anyone could change it.

Sid threw up his hands in a show of losing. “Okay, fine, I’ll come.”

Geno grunted a satisfied sound and nodded. “Good. Now go away, Flower. We have to work.”

“Jeez, okay, if that’s how it is. You’re not even happy to see me?”

“Maybe after we win,” Geno said, and Sid fought his face for the fond grin that threatened to come back. His crush might be over, but Flower’s teasing was not. If he caught sight of Sid’s fondness, he would be relentless. Sid held the smile back until the door closed behind Flower, and Geno turned to him with a quizzical head tilt. “What’s this—prank?” he asked with a gesture at Sid’s damp suit.

Sid nodded and shrugged. “I guess he wanted to get it out of the way early.”

“I like my suit. He get it wet, I—” Geno made the motion of clippers shaving his head, leering, and then winked to show he wasn’t serious. Sid’s face heated up, the residuals of the long-dead crush showing a pulse of life before he dutifully stamped it back down.

“Yeah, well,” Sid said, clapping a hand on Geno’s shoulder to walk with him into the locker room. “Hopefully, he got it out of his system.”

It was not very realistic to hope Flower would stop pranking them entirely, but Sid at least expected a break until _after_ the game. He would not have bet on anyone, not even Flower, to try to spin magic while playing professional hockey. And yet—

A multi-colored snow cone appeared in front of Sid after his first shift, propped neatly between two Gatorade bottles. He shot a look of disbelief down the ice to Flower, perched at the top of his crease for a faceoff, before handing the snow cone back into the gloved hand of a trainer.

“You don’t want to taste?” Geno asked, a disembodied voice from three people away until Sid leaned forward to find him gazing slyly back. When Sid laughed and shook his head, Geno grinned like he had won something.

Sid waited in tense anticipation for Flower to hide another frozen treat on the bench, watching him warily, but nothing eventful happened. His full attention returned to the game just in time to see the first goal. Geno set up, faked a slapper from the left circle, and instead knocked the puck over to Horny, who slammed it home through the back door.

Then as the successful line skated past the bench bumping fists, Sid noticed something. There was something wrong about Horny's stick, the glimpse of it Sid could see—it was broken or something. Horny saw it too and raised it to look. His eyes widened when he found something other than a hockey stick in his hand. "What is this?" Horny asked.

It was a baseball bat. Sid blinked at it, and the players down the bench from him craned to see.

"Wrong sport, bud," Dumo called with a big grin in his voice. He knew exactly what was happening and who was to blame, as did Tanger.

"What’s the flex on that thing?" Tanger chirped.

Before anybody could comment further, a whistle sounded a warning from the ice.

"Pittsburgh, let's go," the ref called. They were on the verge of a delay of game penalty and had to get the third line out. Horny dove onto the bench with the baseball bat in his hand, still looking baffled.

"It's just Flower," Sid explained, reaching to take the bat away. "He's mad you scored. Ignore him."

Horny looked relieved to accept the explanation and put a hand back for a new stick. Sid held onto the bat for a minute, looking it over. “This is a nice bat,” he mused, nudging at Geno to get his attention. “Think he’d sign it for me?”

Geno glanced over, eyes tight with amusement. “You want to keep it?”

Sid shrugged. “How many people can say they own a magic bat? Horny doesn’t mind, right bud?”

Horny waved a hand, tacit permission.

“Go piss him off some more,” Sid continued to Geno. “Maybe he’ll make you a glove. We can get a team together.”

Geno’s laugh conveyed exactly how likely it was that he would ever play baseball with Sid—not at all. “I score goal, make him really mad.”

It was Geno’s solution to everything—score a goal. When he took the ice again, it was with a new kind of purpose. He prowled the neutral zone like a big cat, ready to pounce on an unwary victim and take the puck. When he got it, he barreled his way through defenders to the net, pounding Flower with shots. Geno was a man on a mission, and Sid had to actively contain his dopey smile from escaping onto his face.

As the clock ticked down the final few seconds of the first period, Geno broke through one defender and fought off the other. Geno found a lane and fired a shot at the five-second mark, and Flower never stood a chance. The puck hurtled into the back of the net without touching anything on the way.

Sid jumped up, elated as he cheered the goal with his team, but his joy was doused when Geno dropped to his knees. Geno's lineys levered him back up, all smiles at first. They wanted to congratulate him on the goal, chirp him about falling, but Geno shook his head. Horny's smile fell away. Sid’s stomach swooped nervously as he watched Horny move to help Geno to the bench.

"What's wrong?" Sid called to them as he jumped the boards for a four-second shift. Nobody answered. People were gathering around Geno, closing him off from Sid's view. He just wanted to know—was Geno hurt? Sick? A minute ago he had seemed perfectly fine.

Sid couldn't do more than win the faceoff before the buzzer sounded, and he made no effort to pretend like he wasn't rushing toward the tunnel to check on Geno. He made for the locker room as fast as his skates would allow.

Jon was at the locker room doors to take sticks and distribute Gatorade. Judging by the tightness of his smile when he saw Sid, he knew something. Sid pounced.

"Where's G?" Sid asked.

"He's fine," Jon answered cagily, but his tone sounded very unsure.

“ _Where_ is he?”

"He's just—uh," Jon's eyes cut back toward the doctor’s office. "He's back with Dr. Vyas. They're going to have to pull him."

Sid's heart pounded in his throat at that answer. "Why? Is he hurt?"

"Not—exactly."

"Is he sick?"

Jon cringed and then nodded. "Yeah, he's—sick."

"How sick?"

“Pretty bad. But not _too_ bad. He’s just—really sick.”

Conflict pulled Sid in two directions. He needed to go into the locker room and strip off his top pads, cool down, listen to the coaches. But—Geno was down the hall with the doctor. Jon was clearly lying about _something_ , which didn't settle Sid at all, but maybe it was embarrassing. Maybe Geno was puking his guts out and didn't want Sid to see him.

Sid leveled Jon with a flat, _don’t bullshit me_ glare. "Are they taking him to the hospital?"

"No, definitely not. No way."

Sid pulled in a big breath at that and sighed it out. Then he nodded and ducked into the locker room to do his job.

Sid spent the next two periods jittery on the bench with his attention torn in half. He didn't dare ask about Geno again between the second and third, too afraid he would lose his momentum and insist on seeing him.

By the time the game ended, Sid assumed the medical team had gotten Geno home or to some kind of non-emergency care facility to deal with his illness. With that in mind, Sid fought off the urge to ask until he got into the room and shucked his pads off. But before he could reach for his phone to figure out where Geno went, Sully appeared in front of him at his stall.

"Hey, Sid, we need you."

Sid was only in his spandex base layers, ready to shower and leave after discovering Geno's status. He wasn't mentally prepared for a team meeting of any kind. But a lifetime of obedience to coaches had trained him not to question. He stood with a sigh and got into his slides to follow Sully out of the locker room. He perked when they headed in the direction of the doctor's office.

"Is this about Geno?" Sid asked, suddenly eager to know.

Sully shot a grim look over his shoulder. "Yeah."

"Is he okay?"

Sully's next glance looked even grimmer. He didn't reply as they turned the corner. Someone was already waiting at the door, and Sid nearly tripped over himself with relief at the sight of Flower.

"Shit, it's just a prank," Sid said, lungs returning to full operational capacity. He deked around Sully to greet Flower with a light punch to the shoulder. "What did you do to him? Flu spell? Or—you don't think he tried a snow cone, do you? Was there more than one?"

Sid's momentary sense of relief evaporated when Flower looked uncertainly between him and Sully. "Sid—I told them already. I didn't do anything to Geno."

"Both of you, just—come on," Sully said. His eyebrows arched into unhappy peaks as he went for the door.

A musty, animal smell hit Sid's nostrils before he could process anything else—before he even got through the door. He followed Sully's footsteps into the room, unprepared for the huge head that swung around toward him when he came into sight. His flight brain reversed his course, and he nearly knocked into Flower taking a step back.

"Christ, warn a guy, would you?" Sid cried, clutching his chest as the towering figure of a huge, brown horse lurched toward him. "What's up with the horse? Is—wait, _is_ this a prank? Are you guys trying to get _me_?”

Sid looked around for Geno but didn't see him, which took the wind out of his hopeful sails. He saw that Flower was also gaping at the horse, and he wasn't nearly that good an actor. So—probably not a prank. Sully wasn't one to buy into the childishness enough to let Flower and Geno use him to get Sid. Not to mention the team would never pull Geno from a game for a joke.

"Sadly, no," Sully said, grimness doubling as he confirmed Sid's unhappy suspicions. "This is Geno."

Sid squinted at him. "What do you mean, this is Geno?"

Sully gestured at the horse. It nickered, high and distressed, and took another step toward Sid. The length of its strides brought it within touching distance.

"This. The horse," Sully continued. "It's Geno."

Sid let his eyes roam over the horse. It stretched its nose toward him, nearly touching his chest—imploring. Sid was no expert in horse facial expressions, but even he could see how anxious it looked. He would chalk the horse's panic up to being trapped in a small physio room with a bunch of strangers, except—well. It obviously wanted Sid's attention, Sid specifically.

Even so, Sid didn't start to believe the farfetched story until he raised a hand to soothe the animal and caught sight of something. The horse had a small, old scar just under the crest of its cheekbone. Just like Geno. Sid's heartbeat picked up the pace while he stared at the scar, telling himself it meant nothing. Animals got injured all the time. It could be a coincidence. He had to find some other way to test the ridiculous theory, and he had an idea of how.

Sid moved slowly—cognizant of the animal's size, whether it turned out to be magical or not—to the side of the horse's body and bent to inspect its ribs. He ran a hand against the grain of the hair to see the skin and found what he dreaded: the familiar, black lines of Geno's tattoo.

"Flower!" Sid cried, whipping around to face him.

Flower sputtered. "Don't look at me! I said already—I didn't touch Geno."

The horse—Geno—made an angry grunting sound and shoved his nose toward Flower, who jumped back.

"I didn't! I swear to god, it wasn't me!"

Sully uncrossed his arms just enough to pinch the bridge of his nose, face scrunched up miserably. "Great. So we don't even know where it came from."

"Who else in Vegas has the touch?" Sid asked, aware that he sounded irritated.

Flower’s eyes got wider with hurt at Sid’s tone. Sid had always indulged Flower’s pranks, laughing along with them, but Flower never went so far as to truly scare someone—particularly Geno. Sid always assumed it had more to do with Geno’s retaliation, but he knew at least in part Flower avoided Geno for Sid. He might not have known everything about Sid’s feelings, but he certainly knew Sid would side with Geno in any conflict.

"I don't know, exactly,” Flower said, subdued by Sid’s sharp tone. “Marchessault, definitely. Subban perhaps, if he even knows. But they wouldn't touch Geno. They have no reason."

"Ask around, please," Sid said, failing to contain the bite of his anger.

"Yes, of course. I will find them if I can," Flower said before turning his contrite expression to the horse. "I'm sorry, G."

Geno snorted and shook his mane. Sid didn't think it was horse for total forgiveness. Flower took his opportunity to escape, hopefully going to figure out which Vegas teammate was ruining Sid's evening.

"What do we do now—wait here?" Sully asked, a sneer in his voice that said he was not planning to.

Dr. Vyas took off his glasses and sighed. "I guess. If he can find the culprit in his locker room, maybe we can all walk out of here on two legs."

Geno's ears flicked toward the doctor, and he huffed an audible breath. That was obviously his hope as well. 

"I don't think he's going to find them," Sid said regretfully. "This is crazy powerful magic. If it's like Flower says, if those guys aren't even practicing—"

"There's no way they did this, not by accident," Sully said, reluctantly agreeing. "We have to assume this is for the long haul."

Geno made a high, upset sound and nudged toward Sid. Instinctively, Sid put a hand on his jaw again to calm him.

"Easy, buddy. We got you."

"Where the fuck are we supposed to take a horse?" Sully mused.

"We could make him comfortable here, in the arena?" Dr. Vyas offered skeptically. "It's a big place. And it would limit his exposure, keep this whole thing quiet."

Geno's distressed nicker sounded nearly like a whimper. Even before he heard it, Sid was already opening his mouth to say, "Absolutely not, we're not leaving him here."

"Fine," Sully said grumpily but with a resigned sigh. "We'll call around, get a trailer. I think I know a guy who can do it. Then we'll take him—I don't know. Sid? Can your yard handle a horse?"

"I guess, but it's pretty open. People will definitely notice him. And I think my homeowners association will have a fit. That's a lot more attention than we're looking for. What about Geno's place? The yard is big and private."

Geno grunted and bobbed his head in a huge, exaggerated nod.

Sully made a sound of resolution. "Sure, we'll get him to his house. Sid, will you—"

"Yeah, I'll stay with him," Sid said. He received a grateful head bump in the chest from Geno in return. “So much for going dancing, eh bud?”

Geno snorted in what sounded like agreement.

"Let's get this going, then." Sully pulled out his phone and excused himself to call around for a discreet, middle of the night horse trailer.

*****

Sid awoke with an aching back and a groan only four hours after finally getting to sleep on Geno's couch. Geno’s house was familiar enough that Sid knew immediately where he was—he had visited plenty of times for dinners and gatherings. But sleeping at Geno’s was entirely new. Sid had never allowed himself to stay late, always carefully ensuring that he never had too many glasses of wine at parties. Sid knew his inebriated proclivity for talking too much. He liked to think his attraction to Geno was manageable, but that didn’t mean he trusted his drunk-self to keep the secret.

Because he had never crashed on Geno’s couch before, Sid suffered from the off-balance feeling of waking up somewhere new. He blinked at the ceiling a few times while he got his bearings and then swung his gaze over, where he found a horse lying in the center of the living room instead of a coffee table. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, groggily remembering the night before.

They had gotten Geno to his house after two in the morning. Sully had woken his daughter's riding instructor out of a dead sleep and paid him god knows how much money to rescue a horse they said they found at PPG Paints in the parking lot.

"Probably escaped from a stable around here or something," Sully said without a hint of residual irritation showing in his face when the guy arrived. He was all charm when the moment called for it, bypassing questions of why they didn't just alert the Humane Society by saying, "We're going to take him somewhere safe for the night, look for his people in the morning."

Whether because he believed Sully or because he simply didn't want to know, the guy didn't ask any more questions before opening up the trailer door for Geno. Sid grabbed Geno's keys and gate opener from his locker room stall to operate everything he needed to at the house. Then he followed the truck and trailer on the slow journey to Geno's. Once there, they got Geno unloaded, and the guy made a quick getaway without meeting Sid's eyes. So—he probably didn't want to know.

"Well," Sid sighed, staring up at the house. "Home sweet home."

Geno snorted and clopped around in a circle on his driveway, hooves kicking up the few inches of fresh snow layered on the concrete. He bent his nose to sniff the powder and swished his tail. Sid didn't understand what any of that meant, but at least Geno didn't seem miserable.

Sid stayed with him as long as he could stand, but he hadn't come to the game prepared to wait around in winter weather. He had to give up after ten minutes and head inside.

"Sorry, bud. I'm freezing," Sid said when Geno started to follow him to the front door. "I'm going to thaw out a little, then I'll get you set up. I was thinking the garage? I could put some blankets and stuff in there for you."

Geno made an outraged sound at the idea.

"Yeah, well. I'm not sure where else to put you. You're not exactly going to fit through the front door."

He should have known he would regret saying it, that Geno would take his words as a challenge. As soon as Sid got the front door unlocked, Geno charged up the stairs and barged into the house.

"Whoa, G! What are you—"

Sid's protests came too late as Geno's hooves slipped on the tile in the front hall, and he nearly fell. He froze in place with his legs splayed out to brace himself and swung a look back at Sid, eyes wide.

"Okay, okay, just—hold on a sec," Sid placated, squeezing past Geno's newly-enormous ass to run to the nearest bathroom.

Sid rummaged around until he found enough towels to make a path for Geno to gingerly walk on without slipping or damaging the floor, especially as he made his way onto the wood. Then he pushed the coffee table out of the way to reveal the enormous living room rug. "There we go, can't do much damage to that."

When Geno was on the rug with his feet safely under him, Sid collapsed on the couch with a huge sigh. "Well. You fit through the door," he said with a helpless chuckle because sometimes the only response to a ridiculous situation was to laugh.

Geno rumbled an indignant response and bobbed his head.

"Mind if I raid your fridge? I'm starving."

The nicker he got in response sounded sarcastic, like Geno was reminding Sid he couldn't answer.

"Thanks, bud," Sid said as he hopped up, assuming Geno wouldn't mind.

The last thing Sid remembered of the night was scarfing some kind of leftover soup that Geno definitely didn't cook himself, half warmed in the microwave. He had barely managed a final burst of energy to rinse the bowl before he returned to the living room, collapsed on the couch, and promptly passed right out.

Surreal as the night seemed, it was not being disproved by Sid's morning, staring at a pack animal curled up on the living room rug like a video game glitch.

"Morning," Sid said when he saw Geno's surprisingly long lashes start to flutter.

At Sid’s voice, Geno's huge head came up. He grunted—a horse version of _hello_. Or maybe _fuck you for waking me up_. It was fifty-fifty.

"Want breakfast?"

By the time Sid asked, Geno seemed preoccupied with trying to get his miles of gangly legs under him to get up, but he paused the effort to bob his head up and down impatiently.

Sid went to the kitchen and started by searching in vain for a coffee maker Geno definitely didn't own. He moved on to scouting the pantry before he realized—he didn't actually know what horses _could_ eat. He fished his phone out of his pocket to consult Google.

After ten minutes of searching, phone in hand, Sid managed to scrape together a few things on the horse-approved menu. He put them in a mixing bowl and made himself a quick breakfast of eggs on toast before he returned to the living room.

"Okay," Sid announced to the horse on the rug. "The internet says you can eat sunflower seeds, celery, and strawberries."

Geno leveled a long look at Sid when he put the bowl down on the floor.

"What? You want me to hand feed you?"

Geno shook his mane. Sid was starting to see it as a brush off—the horse equivalent of an eye roll. But Geno dropped his head down to sniff the food.

"Just eat it. It will just hold you over."

With an air of great burden, Geno lipped at the top strawberry and then pulled it into his mouth. He munched it with an unreadable expression and then heaved an overburdened sigh. Apparently, it would suffice.

"Who knows?" Sid said, holding back a laugh at Geno's morose reaction to horse food. "Maybe Flower already figured this whole thing out, and we can switch you back before dinner. Then we won't even have to figure out what else you can eat."

Geno lifted his head, and his ears swiveled forward to point at Sid. Sid could read _that_ horse expression just fine.

"I hope so, too, buddy."

But their combined hope would prove unfounded. After breakfast, Sid created another path of towels and rugs to the back door to let Geno outside. He used their momentary separation to dial Flower for an update. Sid needed to hear that Flower and the team at least had an idea to start fixing things.

Sid's optimism about the longevity of the situation deflated when Flower told him, regretfully, no. He had not apprehended the culprit from the Knights.

"I asked Marchessault and Subban—it’s not them."

"Are you sure?" Sid asked. "They would definitely tell you?"

"Definitely," Flower said. "Besides, neither of them has enough practice to change someone like this. Transformation—all those bones. It can be tricky."

"So, we still have no idea where it came from."

"I'm afraid not."

Sid blew out his hope along with his breath and scratched a hand through his hair as he paced to the back window.

"Don't worry," Flower said, even though he sounded worried himself. "The Penguins have brought in a team—specialists. I'll work with them, give them anything they need. They'll be able to figure this out."

"Do you think they'll get it done today?"

The long hesitation in response said all Sid needed to hear. He slumped before Flower even started gingerly telling him that tracing complex magic would take time—definitely more than a day. Probably more than a week.

At the back of the lot, Geno raced across Sid's field of vision, snow flying up in sprays behind him. Clearly, he was enjoying being able to run twice as fast as usual. Maybe being a horse for a few days wouldn't bother him that much. He could just sprint around happily with the wind in his hair.

The uneasy feeling of a fish swimming around in Sid's guts cut against his optimism. He dreaded telling Geno the bad news.

By the time Sid hung up, he felt utterly wrung out. His phone felt heavy in his hand as he pulled up Google to search for places to buy horse food. It sounded like they were in it for the long haul, and Geno would need more than scrounged-up fruit and vegetables to fuel his enormous body.

Sid called every feed store in the surrounding area until he finally, shamefully, used his name to get one to deliver.

"Of course, Mr. Crosby," the guy on the phone said, suddenly much more engaged than his previous bored, annoyed tone. "We'll get it right over."

Sid didn't feel good about it, but he also didn't want to answer a hundred questions or take fan photos at the horse feed store. He could just see the over-reactive headlines— _Cowboy Crosby plans rodeo debut?_

With an abundance of help from the guy on the line about what would be suitable for a horse of Geno's years—apparently, 32 was a ripe old age—Sid ordered enough food to last hopefully a _lot_ longer than necessary and hung up feeling like he needed a nap. Instead, he tucked his phone away and shuffled outside in the cold to get Geno's attention.

"Bad news, bud," Sid said as gently as he could when Geno trotted up. "Flower says it's probably going to be a while."

Geno tossed his head with a short whinny. Sid wasn't sure what it meant, but it wasn't a wholly happy sound. But Geno didn't seem as devastated as Sid might have expected. Maybe the sprinting really did make him at least partly glad to be a horse. He appeared in high enough spirits for Sid to take the kid gloves off when speaking to him.

"I went ahead and ordered some horse food. They asked if I wanted them to throw a saddle in—some kind of free giveaway. I said, sure, why not. Might as well get some use out of you for however long."

Geno didn't believe him at all. He tossed his mane and swished his tail from side to side for an extra expression of disgruntlement. 

"What?" Sid asked, his mouth betraying him as it pulled into a grin. "You don't want to give me a piggyback ride? You're usually not strong enough, but I figured as a horse—"

Geno squealed in outrage, tossing his head furiously and stamping his front hooves. Sid broke down into a good laugh, one he sorely needed.

*****

The feed store delivery arrived at the gate in the late afternoon, which was good because Sid was starting to get really hungry again. They had gone through Geno's supply of berries and horse-approved seeds. He hit the buzzer to let the delivery in and met the truck in the driveway with Geno by his side, ears straining toward the oncoming pickup.

The lady behind the wheel parked in front of the house and jumped out to greet them. "Why hello there!"

"Hey," Sid said, pleased to see a face not pinched with misery at the dire situation, but he _very_ quickly realized she was not talking to him. Instead of walking to Sid, she beelined for Geno and reached up to stroke his neck.

"Aren't you beautiful!" she said, beaming up at Geno with undisguised delight. "What is he, Thoroughbred?"

"I, uh—I guess I don't really know, sorry." Sid didn't know anything about horse breeds.

"With legs like that, he definitely could be. Or Tennessee Walker, maybe."

Geno snorted and shook his head. Tennessee remained a sore subject after the battle they had with Nashville in the playoffs to win their last Cup. Still, Geno leaned into the lady's petting and arched his neck while she cooed praise at him for his stunning good looks.

"Sorry, I'm Lindsey," she said to Sid, a little sheepish that she hadn't introduced herself before.

"Sid."

She smiled politely, but it was the _I know exactly who you are_ smile he usually got when he introduced himself to anyone in Pittsburgh. "And who is this?" she asked, angling for the answer she was probably most interested in to begin with.

"Ge—" Sid started and cut himself off with a cough, scrambling for something other than his famous teammate's name. "Geronimo." Yeah, that was a horse name.

"It's very nice to meet you, Geronimo," Lindsey said, unfazed by Sid's hesitation, while Geno cut what Sid could only assume was a heartily amused look his way. Sid glared, and Geno craned over to snuffle into Sid's hair, messing it up, then curled his upper lip toward the sky.

"Aw, he likes you," Lindsey said, beaming.

"He better like me," Sid replied with a pat to Geno's neck to belie his deadpan tone. "I'm taking care of him for the foreseeable future."

Geno snorted. He sounded very put-upon for the one not about to haul bags of feed and hay up twenty stairs.

"Oh, he's not your horse?"

"No, he's not. He's just a friend."

Lindsey hit Sid with a curious head tilt. "A friend."

"A friend's horse," Sid amended, and Geno snorted again, obnoxiously amused.

"Well," Lindsey said with her smile returning for Geno only—she clearly thought Sid had suffered too many concussions. "Should we get you squared away? Where should I unload?"

"In front is fine," Sid said, following her to the pickup truck loaded with hay and grain bags. When she put the tailgate down, he grabbed the first bag.

"Is that a good idea?" Lindsey asked with a healthy dose of humor in her tone when she pulled out a second bag and followed him to the house. "I don't want to be responsible for you being injured."

Geno nickered high and delighted—a laugh. 

"I think I'll make it, thanks," Sid replied flatly. "You sure you're not from Philly?"

That got Lindsey chuckling heartily on the way up the stairs. They dropped the bags of feed inside the front door and returned to the truck for hay bales. Geno trotted over to beat them to it and nuzzled around in the hay for a second. He backed off with an unmistakable sneer.

"Sorry, buddy," Sid said with a pat to his neck. "It's what horses eat."

Sid could feel Lindsey's eyes on him again for the comment. He avoided her stare and hefted a bale of hay to walk it up to the stoop. He dropped it there, looking like a late Halloween decoration, but he figured it was better than tracking straw all over the inside of Geno's house.

When Sid trotted down the stairs, Geno fell into his wake on the way back to the truck. Sid felt a surge of fondness at Geno's behavior, having been in his pocket since the whole ordeal began. Geno was going through something pretty scary and leaning on Sid to get him through it. It was a level of trust Geno didn't extend to most people.

Before reaching for another hay bale out of the truck, Sid ran an affectionate hand down Geno's neck. Geno craned his head up and snuffled Sid's hair again, determined to leave it messy beyond repair. When Geno had sniffed his fill, he tipped his head to the sky and curled his lip.

"Whoa, he _really_ likes you," Lindsey said with a breathless laugh, returning to the bottom of the stairs after delivering the hay. It took Sid a moment to figure out what she was talking about, but he followed her eyes. Then he immediately averted them as not to stare at the fucking massive erection hanging down from between Geno's hind legs.

"Sorry," Sid said reflexively to someone—to everyone. He knew Geno wouldn't want him looking, and he felt embarrassed for Lindsey because she surely wasn't used to a locker room full of dudes.

Except, to her, Geno wasn't a dude. He was a horse. She waved his apology off like nothing weird was happening because, to her, it wasn't.

"Don't worry about it," she said lightly. "I have stallions, too. It's perfectly natural—happens like twenty times a day. Usually, there's not any reason for it. One of my guys even gets bored in his stall and tries to—you know." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Sid did _not_ know and didn’t want to. He kept his eyes firmly not on Geno's monster cock while he grabbed another hay bale out of the truck.

"Now if he _only_ pops a boner around you," Lindsey continued, chasing him with a bale of her own, "then you've got a problem." 

Lindsey said it with a laugh like she didn't think that was very realistic. It sounded like horses got wood if the wind blew, so she was probably right. Sid silently busied himself with heavy lifting and _not looking_ , something he had a lot of experience with, especially when it came to Geno.

Lindsey left them with six bales of hay stacked neatly on the stoop, two bags of grain by the front coat rack, and her phone number scrawled on the back of the feed store's business card.

"In case you need anything," she said, eyes shining with barely-contained giggles. "They can be a handful when you're just starting out."

"Yeah, for sure," Sid said. "Thanks."

Her tail lights were still visible when Geno nudged Sid in the shoulder and reached for the card with his mouth.

"Hey," Sid protested, pulling it back. "We might need that."

Geno tried again before Sid tucked the card into his jeans pocket for safekeeping.

"What, are you jealous or something?" Sid teased, but the way Geno jerked his head, he thought he might have struck a nerve. He patted Geno's neck and started walking around the house to the back door, easily accessible to horses. "Don't worry, bud. She was way more into you than me. If you had thumbs right now, she would have given it to you."

Sid's assurance didn't seem to entirely appease Geno, who plodded along to the open back door and into the house moodily. There was no point in pressing the issue. Without being able to speak horse, Sid was stuck not knowing.

*****

Sid slept on the couch again, though not by choice. Geno had pitched a big horse fit when he tried to go upstairs to find a real bed and did not respond well to Sid's assurances that he would be down in the morning. Geno got his front hooves diligently up on the second step, threatening to precariously climb the stairs, before Sid caved.

"You're being ridiculous," Sid huffed as he stomped past Geno to the couch. Geno just made a satisfied sound and ambled along behind him.

So, instead of jerking off in privacy and going right to sleep like he wanted to, Sid found himself reading up on horse breeds on his phone until he grew drowsy enough to drift off. He scrolled through the pictures, holding them up for comparison to Geno. He looked like a Thoroughbred, as Lindsey said. But then, he also looked like pretty much every other horse on the list. They were all kind of similar.

Sid woke up to the ring of his alarm, reminding him that, unlike the previous day, he had practice. "Fuck me," he groaned before he opened his eyes and got a rumbly horse laugh in response.

With all the energy he could muster, Sid levered himself up from Geno's couch to get the day started. He yawned through his morning routine, eyes fighting him to fall closed at the bathroom sink while brushing his teeth.

Geno's kitchen continued not having a coffee maker in it, which was doubly unfortunate when Sid could use the jolt of energy. He resolved to buy Geno one after practice—a years-too-late housewarming present.

The open bag of horse feed sat propped against a cabinet in the kitchen. It looked silly and out of place, but Sid didn't know where else to store it. Geno didn't exactly have a palatial barn. Even if he did, Geno would refuse to stay there, insisting that he belonged in the house. Sid used a measuring cup to scoop out the quantity recommended on the bag. Again, he was struck by how unappetizing horse feed appeared—little, brown pellets of mystery grains. It looked like bran cereal.

Sid made himself oatmeal in solidarity with Geno's bland diet and took both bowls to the living room. He could hear Geno's lungs pulling in a massive sigh when he put the horse feed down, but the only comfort he could muster was a pat to the neck before he plopped himself on the couch with his oatmeal.

"Got practice today," Sid mentioned casually, eyeing Geno for a reaction. Nothing. "Are you going to freak out again if I leave you alone?" Sid asked.

That got a response. Geno lifted his head out of the mixing bowl with an indignant squeal of protest.

"You did, though. Last night."

Geno shook his head, emphatically denying that ever happened.

"If you say so, bud,” Sid said, resigned. He had no energy to argue. “I'll leave the back door open for you when I go. Guessing you can handle any burglars."

Geno made a rumbly sound Sid recognized as amusement. There probably weren't many criminals in suburban Pennsylvania equipped to handle a thousand pounds of angry horse charging at them.

Even with Geno's reassurance about leaving, Sid checked his rearview mirror a lot on his way down the driveway when he headed out. Geno didn't appear behind him, sprinting desperately after the car, so Sid figured he was clear.

Sid dragged into the practice facility like he was walking through knee-deep mud and collapsed at his stall. Jake did a double take at him, so apparently he looked as bad as he felt. He stripped and got into gear on autopilot, using solely muscle memory, hopeful that the same would get him through practice.

On the ice, Sid put all of his energy reserves into drills. Maybe he wouldn't excel every time, but he at least did a passable job—enough to keep the coaching staff from whispering about him. Sid had gone through enough health trials in his career to know when they were furtively talking about his condition, and he didn't see any signs of it.

Still, Sid didn't stay on the ice when practice ended like he normally might. He often lingered for at least a couple of minutes of alone time, working on his shot or handling. On fumes, Sid didn't even consider it. He made his way back to the room with the boys and stripped down right away.

Sid was in base layers when Sully barked his name through the locker room door—an unavoidable order to come. Sid emptied his lungs as he stood, a long and frustrated breath, but he obeyed the call. Doubts sprang into his head on the walk—maybe he should have stayed out after practice. Perhaps he _had_ worried the coaches.

"How's our boy?" Sully asked as soon as he spotted Sid in the hall, so apparently, this talk would not be about Sid's on-ice performance. Somehow, that didn't relax him.

"He's, uh—well," Sid said, scratching the back of his neck while he weighed his words. "He's fine, I guess. I don't really know how to tell. He seems mostly okay."

Sully's arms crossed reflexively, bracing for the bad news. "What do you mean, mostly?"

"I don't know. He just needs, like, a _lot_ of attention. He won't even let me sleep in a separate room."

At that, Sully uncrossed his arms and sighed. "Yeah, well, he's a herd animal right now, Sid. Give him a fucking break. It's not natural for a horse to be alone at night."

Sid felt a sudden stab of shame at Sully's blunt words. He hadn't thought about the fact that Geno might be dealing with horse instincts. "Right, yeah. That makes sense."

Sully's combative stance softened as he seemingly remembered that Sid was trying his best. "Look. We can send someone else to stay with him tonight, let you get some sleep—"

"No," Sid said, a kneejerk reaction that surprised them both. If asked when he first woke up from a night of restless sleep on Geno's couch, Sid would have jumped at the chance for a long night in his own bed. But faced with the real opportunity, he didn't want to leave Geno—not even with someone he trusted. "I got it. We'll be fine. But, uh—I wouldn't say no to some good news. Any progress on getting him back?"

"Nothing yet, but I'm not the one to ask. I can't understand half of what those magic guys talk about."

"Oh, yeah. Flower said the team hired consultants. Are they here? I could meet with them, tell them—I don't know. What I saw."

"They should be heading your way later today to examine Geno, see what they can figure out. You can fill in the gaps in the story for them."

"Okay, good," Sid said, relief pouring down his limbs like cool water. He hated floundering with nothing to do but wait. Having a plan put his mind at ease. "We'll be ready whenever they call."

Sully's mouth twitched like he wanted to say more. "Just, uh. Keep in mind, they're magical scholars. They're not like Flower. They live in their own world, so—be patient."

Sid could infer from the warning that Sully's patience had not fared as well in his meeting with the consultants. He assured Sully that he would do his best—though, in the back of his mind, he worried more about Geno's reaction if the magicians rubbed him the wrong way. He wondered on the way back to the locker room what they were like—arrogant professor types, maybe? Stuffy men in suits? For them to have gotten Sully's hackles up, Sid imagined that they were pretty condescending.

"Lunch?" Tanger asked, breaking Sid out of his speculation about the consultants. Tanger was just coming back from the showers, water still dripping from the tips of his hair.

"Sorry, I can't," Sid said regretfully. "I should get back to G's place. The consultants are coming sometime today to meet him."

A smirk began to pull at Tanger's mouth before Sid finished talking, revealing his evil intentions before he could say, "Sounds like a party. I will bring some sushi for us. And an apple for the donkey."

"Oh boy," Sid said, chuckling past a flutter of legitimate nervousness. "He'll be human again soon. You better not go too hard. How about something other than sushi? If you bring his favorite, he'll kick you."

Tanger's eyes glinted with no promise to keep the peace, but when he showed up at Geno's an hour later, he wisely brought stir fry instead of sushi. Sid watched him pull the bag out of the car and sagged against the front door in relief.

"Holy shit, you're a giant," Tanger said, more delighted than intimidated by Geno's hulking body taking up most of the front stoop. Geno chewed a piece of hay without humor while Tanger paced around him, looking him over. "You think we could enter you in a race while you're like this?"

Geno rumbled with amusement at that and craned his neck out to mess up Tanger's hair with his lips, the same as he did with Sid the day before. Sid watched fondly before he remembered with a jolt what else happened when Geno ruffled his hair.

"Don't mind him if he gets, uh. Excited. Apparently, it's just a horse thing."

"Excited?" Tanger asked.

Geno flicked his ears back and made a disgruntled sound. Not that Sid was going to explain, but Geno's protest solidified his decision. Besides, there was nothing _to_ explain. Geno's dick was fully sheathed, as a surreptitious and shameful glance confirmed.

"Never mind," Sid said, hoping Tanger would be too out of the loop to hone in on a weakness and ask more questions. "Let's go inside, eh? It's freezing."

Geno awkwardly backed up so they could shut the door. Tanger followed Geno into the house, eyes on the mismatched trail of towels and rugs full to the brim with glee. "Is this for shit?"

"No," Sid said even as Geno squealed in protest. "He can't walk on the hard floors. He's like a toy car, skidding around everywhere."

Which apparently was even funnier. "Can you imagine? On the ice?" Tanger said with the little breaths he could catch between giggles. "Like Bambi."

Sid had to admit, imagining Geno trying to traverse the ice on his hooves was pretty funny, considering the difficulty he had with the tile. "The worst part of the curse, eh G? No ice time."

Geno grunted agreement and ambled off to his safe place on the living room rug where he would not trip or stumble, giving Tanger more fuel.

They ate in the living room to stay with Geno, bickering about what to watch on TV until they settled on ESPN. Sports Center was talking about quarterbacks, which Geno had big opinions on. He grunted and snorted at the analysts' wrong ideas, ears on a swivel as his emotions teetered. Tanger watched the whole proceeding with a glint in his eyes.

"Oh, quit moaning," Tanger finally said, earning an outraged squeal. "Here, I brought you something."

Geno's ears perked forward when Tanger produced the promised apple. He craned his neck out to reach for it and felt around it with his lips before he set his teeth into it and crunched it in half.

"Oh my god," Tanger said, giggling. “This is so _weird_.”

The comment earned him a spray of snot when Geno snorted indignantly. Tanger recoiled, laughing breathlessly between disgusted noises. Geno looked very pleased with himself and reached to pick the remaining half of the apple off the floor where Tanger had dropped it.

"Five-second rule, eh bud?" Sid said, marinating in the light atmosphere of the room. Tanger seemed uniquely able to buoy Geno's mood, even in the weirdest of circumstances.

With that in mind, Sid was disappointed that Tanger left before the magicians arrived. He could have used the backup.

There were three, each dressed in a black robe with their company logo on the left breast. All three wore glasses, supporting the scholarly expectations Sid harbored from his meeting with Sully. But instead of arching eyebrows and sullen expressions, they all beamed like excited children when he opened the door.

"Hey, I'm Sid. Guessing you're here for Geno."

They introduced themselves all at once, a cacophony of syllables that prevented Sid from catching any of their names. They each shook Sid's hand briefly on the way into the house, clearly more interested in getting past him than interacting, then continued jabbering as he led them toward the living room. He never got a word in edgewise, the way they seamlessly picked up each other's train of thought and continued it, giggling and chattering like excited squirrels.

Geno jerked his head up at the sight of the three strangers, ears flicking back uncertainly.

"So yeah, that's Geno," Sid said as the three fanned out, falling into awed silence as they peered up at Geno's hulking form. Geno eyed each of them, looking uncertain.

Before Sid could do anything, the magicians seemed to break out of their wondering spell at once, buzzing back into motion. One reached into a flowing sleeve, produced a notebook, and flipped it open. "Don't worry about a thing. We'll get to the bottom of this."

While the magicians swirled around the room, chatting with each other too fast to understand, Geno swiveled his head to throw an accusing look at Sid. Sid shrugged apologetically. It wasn't like he could have warned Geno. He had had no idea what to expect, even with Sully's warning. The real-life cartoon characters were beyond what he could have guessed.

The magicians spent a full hour flitting around, passing the notebook back and forth to jot down their findings. Sid leaned against a wall, entirely ignored by everyone but Geno—who only wanted to glare at him in horse.

Abruptly, the magician holding the notebook snapped it shut and tucked it away into a sleeve. Before Sid could react, they all began moving toward the door.

"Is that it?" Sid called.

"We have what we need," one of the magicians said.

"We'll be in touch," said another.

And before Sid could follow up, they huddled in close together and shuffled away. He trailed them toward the front door but didn't see them again. When he peered out, there was no car in the driveway. He blinked hard and backed away to shut the door.

"That was something else," Sid said to Geno on returning to the living room. “They were kind of strange, eh?"

Geno snorted and bobbed his head in emphatic agreement.

“I guess it’s a wizard thing,” Sid said, stretching his arms above his head. He could feel his back resisting the movement, tight and rigid after leaning on a wall for an hour. "Sully said they wouldn't be like Flower. I guess he really is a breed of his own."

The noise Geno made wasn't hard to interpret.

"Yeah, I guess we always knew that," Sid said with a silly shrug. "Hopefully, these guys can get you sorted out quick."

With another agreeing snort, Geno lumbered his way toward Sid and nudged him in the stomach. Then he stepped onto the path toward the back door.

Sid's back gave a twinge at the idea of going out in the freezing weather. "Actually, do you mind tackling the elements alone this time?"

Geno swung around, ears and eyes focused on Sid's face.

"I'm feeling kind of old for the snow right now," Sid admitted sheepishly. "Thinking about hitting the sauna, if you don't mind."

Geno snorted—Sid could practically hear him correcting the language, how it wasn't exactly a _sauna_ because of some slight regional variation.

"Taking that as a yes," Sid said, stripping his shirt off where he stood to get the point across.

Geno stopped grumbling, eyes fixed on Sid. The skin on his shoulder twitched like he could feel something tickling it and his mouth moved in a slow, contemplative motion. Sid didn't think calling his private steam room a sauna was _that_ offensive, to deserve a stare down, but apparently it meant a lot.

"You can tell me all about it when you're better, bud," Sid said with a chuckle as he moved to get past Geno. His steps stuttered when he spotted Geno's dick hanging nearly down to the floor. As he watched, it twitched, and Sid reflexively swallowed instead of looking away like he definitely should.

When he dared a guilty glance at Geno, he found Geno looking back at him.

"Okay," Sid said weakly, forcing his eyes away. "Sauna. Shower. Nap. That's the plan. I'll be back, door's open."

Sid escaped before Geno could see that he was having something of a reaction himself. He _really_ hoped he wasn’t into horse dong. He could pretty well assure himself that he wasn't, but—well. He adjusted his semi in his shorts to make it more comfortable to walk and glanced back, worried Geno might see him.

It wasn't sexy for Geno to get hard, Sid firmly told himself as he retreated further. It was just a horse thing. Like Lindsey said, it happened all the time with her stallions for no reason, a surge of hormones. Biology. Same as how Geno suddenly felt anxious about being alone at night. It was just—horse stuff.

Ten minutes later, when Sid gave up on talking his dick down in the sauna and wrapped his hand around it, he felt relieved to close his eyes and envision Geno—the man—dropping down to his knees in front of him with an easy, lopsided smile. Comforting as it would not usually be to jerk off to fantasies of teammates, Sid gave himself a pass because at least—thank god—he wasn't actually into the idea of fucking a horse. It was just Geno, and that was nothing new.

*****

Sid felt _wrong_ from the moment he woke up on game day. It wasn't even that he woke up on Geno's couch rather than his bed. His routine survived road trips three time zones away—it could surely start out at Geno's house. He got up, made his usual gameday breakfast along with Geno's bowl of pellets. He adhered to his schedule and got out the door for skate right on time. He warmed his legs up and taped his sticks before team meetings. He ate lunch with the team. He made it back to Geno's for a nap exactly on time. And still, he felt slightly askew. It didn't bode well for the game.

Apparently, Sid's disturbance showed because Geno rumbled a concerned noise at him when he was getting ready to leave for the game.

"Yeah, I don't know," Sid said, scratching the back of his neck. "I think I'm missing something."

Geno tossed his head vehemently from side to side.

"Well, yeah, obviously I'm missing you, big guy. But that's nothing new. You get hurt like six times a season." Sid shot him a sly grin and could swear he got a sneer in return.

Geno pouted his way back to the living room and underwent the considerable process it took to lower himself down to the ground. He heaved a huge sigh when it was done, and he was lying down with his gangly legs curled around him. Sid's unease abated as he watched the production.

"You want me to turn the TV on? You can watch the game."

A small head nod marked Geno's concession, though he clearly wasn't done pouting.

Sid turned the television on and found the right channel. It was playing a rerun of baseball. Sid chuckled. "Well, you have fun with that for three hours." He put the remote down and turned to go.

Geno was watching him steadily, solemnly.

"Hey. You know I'm just messing with you. I wish you were coming, really."

Geno bobbed his head and grunted—accepting Sid's near apology. Sid absently brushed his fingers across Geno's mane when he passed.

"Wish me luck."

If Geno _did_ wish him luck, it didn’t work. Even though the Penguins weren't playing Vegas, weird things kept happening. An umbrella appeared in Dana's left hand. Horny's stick changed again—this time into a javelin. Murr's water bottle up and disappeared after a goal knocked it off the top of the net.

On top of that, Sid played like wet garbage. He regretted leaving the TV on. Geno would definitely mock him for his turnovers, his missed shots. For once, Sid was glad he couldn't understand horse language, so he wouldn't have to put up with it.

He did, however, have to endure the press.

"Sid, why do you think your line isn't working?"

Sid breathed in slowly to keep from answering for a least a couple seconds, then railed off some bland and formulaic answer for them to quote in the paper. He had learned long ago that he could do little about how his words were interpreted, but the tamer the quote, the less backlash he got.

"Any word on Geno?" another voice asked.

Sid's brain spun through the list of answers for the one least likely to yield follow-ups. "Yeah, he's doing good."

The same voice pressed him on it. "Do you guys have an update on how long he'll be out?"

Sid heard between the lines—someone had to score goals. Geno's line was hot before he went out. Sid's line was struggling. Sid ducked his eyes under the bill of his hat for a brief moment of composure so he didn't snap. Sleeping on the couch was doing him in, making him crabby. He returned to face the cameras with a shake of his head. "No, hopefully soon. You always miss a guy like that out there, who can score no matter what."

Christ, Sid really hoped Geno wasn't still watching. No matter how tempered, his public praise would be another cause for mockery.

Then again, it wasn't like Geno could change the channel. Which was why, when Sid returned to Geno's house, he wasn't particularly surprised when Geno met him at the door with a nicker.

"Yeah, yeah. I had to say something. They would go bonkers if I told them the truth about how much you suck."

Geno jerked his head with a _very_ offended grunt, and then shook his whole body. When Sid tried to get past him, Geno craned his neck out and nipped at his sleeve.

"Hey, not the suit," Sid complained, turning his arm to survey the damage. Nothing seemed to be torn. While he did, Geno took the opportunity to carefully step off his path onto the hard floor and gingerly walk around Sid to herd him toward the living room.

"What is going on?" Sid asked as Geno kept pushing. He didn't stop until Sid was in front of the TV, now playing an infomercial. Geno made all kinds of noise as he nodded toward the screen. "What? You need a Shamwow?"

Geno pinned his ears back irritably and craned over to pick the remote up with his mouth. It fell halfway, but Sid got the point—sort of. He grabbed it off the floor.

"So—now what?"

Geno whinnied a little desperately, like he was about to freak out if Sid didn't read his mind.

"Okay, well. Rewind?"

Geno nodded enthusiastically.

"Just tell me when, okay?"

Sid rewound to his post-game interview and glanced over. He thought perhaps that would be Geno's intent, to make fun of him. But Geno kept his eyes firmly on the screen and didn't make any motion for Sid to stop.

It wasn't until the middle of the game when Geno made a noise and nudged him to play. Sid did it and watched for whatever Geno was on about. Horny was making his way down the ice when a slash knocked the stick out of his hands, and it went flying.

"There goes Hornqvist's stick up into the bench area," Errey called. "Always have to watch out for the javelin."

Sid's spine jolted straight. "Wait, what?"

Geno bobbed his head excitedly. On the screen, Sid could just barely see the equipment managers secreting away the sudden javelin.

"Oh my god," Sid said under his breath, rewinding more.

Dana was standing too close to the boards when a defenseman stopped hard and sprayed ice on him. Sure enough, Errey crowed, "Holy smokes, somebody get him an umbrella!" 

"Holy shit," Sid muttered, and Geno grunted an agreement.

Flower answered the phone on the third ring and didn't get through his greeting before Sid accosted him. "Did you touch Errey?"

"Sorry, what?"

"When you were in town. Did you touch Errey?"

The silence on the other end, the way it filled up with realization, was enough for Sid to know the answer.

*****

Errey arrived in the passenger seat of Sully's car, looking nervous and uncertain. He had almost certainly never been to Geno's house before. For that matter, Sid would bet neither had Sully. They followed Sid's lead into the house and on to where Geno stood waiting on the living room rug.

"Wow, yeah. That's a horse, all right," Errey said, eyebrows up in his hair. "And you're sure this is Malkin?"

Geno nickered high and indignant.

"Yeah," Sully said flatly. "We're sure. So. Can you fix him?"

"I'm still not sure how you think I broke him," Errey said with an uncertain grin.

"No problem," Sid said. "I've got the broadcast cued up on the DVR. Turns out, this dork records every game."

Sid swatted Geno on the ass and dodged a halfhearted attempt at biting him with a laugh. Both of them were feeling silly, knowing that the nightmare was ending. Just a few words from Errey and Geno would be back to normal. Sid could go home and sleep in his own bed and diligently pack all of his unhealthy, sex-related Geno thoughts back into the mental box they came from.

Three men and a horse watched the television as, days prior, Geno raced down the ice with focused purpose. He spun around the first defender and braced to keep the second from getting to the puck while he lifted it up into the top corner past Flower.

"And that's how you find out you can't stop the racehorse," Errey said delightedly from the TV. "Evgeni Malkin—an absolute Thoroughbred!"

"Oh, hey, you _are_ a Thoroughbred," Sid said with a grin and a shrug. Geno grunted, also seeming bemused.

"Well, can you fix it?" Sully asked Errey.

"Sure, if all I have to do is call a spade a spade. Geno, you're a human."

Everybody waited with bated breath. Nothing happened. Sid deflated first. "Maybe—because you said his full name last time? Maybe it only works that way."

"Okay. Evgeni Malkin is a human being."

Again, they waited. Again, nothing happened. They tried every different way they could conceptualize to say it until, defeated, they ran out.

Sid walked Errey and Sully out of the house under the weight of their disappointment. The oppressive feeling didn't abate when they got outside, all of them suffering from the crash after having so much of their hope dashed.

"Well. Thanks for coming out here, giving it a shot," Sid said at the car, reaching to shake Errey's hand.

"We're not giving up, Sid," Sully said. "It's just for now. We'll talk it over with the wizards and come back with another plan of attack."

"Yeah, sure," Sid replied. He tried to keep the bitter frustration out of his voice. "We'll be here."

Sid watched the car disappear down the drive before forcing himself to go back inside and face Geno.

Geno appeared to have collapsed under the crushing defeat. Where he had been standing when Sid left him, he had since lowered to the floor with his legs curled around him. He had his nose resting on the ground and didn't lift his head to look when Sid returned.

"Oh, buddy," Sid said, shoving his own feelings aside. "It's okay. It doesn't mean anything. It was just a first try."

Geno drew in a huge breath and sighed it out. He didn't want to hear it. Sid hovered uncertainly before he approached. Geno didn't lift his head, but turned his eyes to glare at Sid, daring him to try to get Geno up.

"I won't say anything," Sid assured him. "You have every right to be in the dumps."

Geno snorted— _you’re damn right I do_.

Sid lowered to sit beside Geno's enormous head and reached out to straighten the hair falling into his eyes. Geno tilted his head to look at Sid, then laboriously moved his head over to rest his chin on Sid's thigh. Sid let himself pet down Geno's neck in long strokes, soothing him as though he were a real horse. "You're going to be all right. I promise."

Geno sighed and adjusted his head on Sid's leg. He seemed at least slightly less miserable.

*****

Geno's sorrow lasted the rest of the day and carried on into the next. Something about a sad horse—maybe the sheer size of the moping body—magnified Geno's depression until it felt difficult to breathe around him. Geno barely ate or drank anything, which Google said was pretty bad for horses. When Sid tried to gently prod him into getting up, he turned his head away with a groan.

Sid made it to mid-morning before he broke. Without practice or skate to get to, twenty-four hours under the blanket of misery was as much as he could take. He paced around Geno's kitchen island with his phone in his hand before he forced himself to man up and call Lindsey.

"Hello again!" she said when Sid introduced himself. "How's your friend?"

Sid wanted to smile at the joke, but the thousand pounds of gloom in the living room wouldn't allow for it. "He's, uh—well. He's actually not doing that great."

"Oh no, what's going on?"

"He's just feeling kind of under the weather. Depressed, you could say. And I mean, it's justified. He got some pretty bad news yesterday and—I can't blame him. But I can't just let him mope. If he were a guy, I'd maybe get him out of the house. Take him for a beer. But with a horse, I don't know. You got any ideas?"

Lindsey blew out a breath. It shook like she might be on the verge of laughing at him. "The horse got bad news, huh?"

"Uh, yeah. It's complicated."

"I would love to know who decided you were qualified to look after their horse."

Sid cringed. "It wasn't the best plan, eh?"

"No, Sid. That's not what I meant. You're trying, and that's a heck of a lot better than knowing and not caring."

"I don't know. I feel pretty useless."

"You're not, I promise. You _want_ to help, and that’s really great. Here's the thing. Horses aren't that different from us. You said you'd take a buddy out for a beer, well—take Geronimo out. Not for beer, obviously, but just around. Take him for a walk. They're like us. Cooped up in the winter, combined with—bad news. It can get overwhelming. The endorphins from exercise will do him good."

Sid felt an attempt to smile pulling at his mouth. "Okay, yeah. That's a good idea."

"And Sid?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't try to ride him, okay? With your knowledge of horses, you'll break all your bones, and this city will never see another Stanley Cup."

A laugh snuck up on Sid. "Yeah, I don't think he'd let me, anyway. But I don't plan to try."

"Good luck."

"Thanks."

The massive lump in the living room didn't move when Sid entered. He took a big breath and dug his nails into his palms a couple of times—an old move from when he was the youngest captain in the league bluffing the shit out of the older guys to get them to fall in line with his leadership. He would stand outside the room after a loss composing himself, fists clenching around invisible stress balls before he strode inside.

"Hey, G. I need you to get up, bud."

Geno snorted. His head was turned away, and he made no effort to move it.

"I know. But you have to."

At that, Geno picked his head up and turned to look at Sid incredulously, as if to say, "How the fuck do you plan to make me?"

Sid dug his nails into his palms again—three times in quick succession—before he forced himself to unclench. Geno wasn't one of the older guys in the locker room. He wasn't a stubborn rookie or a slumping fourth liner. Sid knew better than to think he could captain him—that he _should_.

"Sorry."

Geno sighed indignantly.

“I guess you don’t _have_ to. Not like I can pick you up, eh? But—I wish you would."

Geno groaned and rolled to stretch out on his side with his legs sprawled for miles.

"I just hate to see you like this. I know you have every reason, but it still really sucks. I guess that sounds pretty selfish."

Geno rubbed his face back and forth against the rug when he nodded. Sid dropped his head with a sigh, knowing when he was beaten. He wasn't going to get Geno to go outside until Geno wanted to.

Only, the sound of Geno moving his massive frame made Sid look up in time to find him climbing up to stand on four legs. He lumbered forward unsteadily, like a few of his limbs were asleep, until he stopped in front of Sid. When Sid didn't move, Geno nudged against his stomach and pulled at his shirt, then nodded toward the back door.

"Okay, yeah. I'm going."

Outside, Geno shook the slumber out of his legs while they walked the fence line. His breaths, moving in and out of enormous lungs, caused puffy steam clouds to rise from his nostrils. Sid pulled his coat close to his body to keep out the chill, but at least for the moment, Geno didn't seem overly bothered by the low temperatures. In fact, once he got his feet under him, he started trotting through the deeper snow, throwing up sprays of it in his wake. The scene was undeniably beautiful, like a picture from some little girl's calendar—a dark brown horse with his neck arched and his mane flowing as he pranced through the fresh powder.

Sid must have been smiling because Geno strutted toward him with a high whinny.

"You just look good, man."

Geno made an offended noise.

"Yeah, I know," Sid placated him. Instinctively, he reached out to pet Geno's long nose. "You always look good."

Geno lifted his head to look at Sid's face. He looked surprised by Sid's admission. Sid wasn't unsurprised himself. Being the only one able to talk was making him open his mouth too much, admit things he shouldn't.

"Not that I've been looking," Sid said, mitigating. Geno didn't look deterred. He took a couple of small steps closer and brushed his velvet-soft lips against Sid's cheek. It would have done more to make Sid's heart race, wondering what it meant, if it hadn't also tickled. He jerked away, giggling, hands coming up involuntarily to cup around Geno's face and keep him from pursuing. "Sorry, just—you're all whiskers."

Geno's huff sounded affectionate. Instead of trying for Sid's cheek again, he lifted his head high and nuzzled Sid's hair. Sid remembered hotly the last time he did the same thing. His eyes cut down Geno's torso and—sure enough—his rigid cock nearly touched the top of the snow. Sid swallowed. He should jerk away. He should make a joke. He should, at the bare minimum, get Geno to stop trying to eat his hair.

Sid did none of that. He stood and let Geno sniff his fill while his giant dick swung in the breeze.

"You, uh. Like that?"

Where Geno had been busily nuzzling Sid's hair, he suddenly froze. It seemed as though he had simply gotten carried away. He took a few awkward strides backward, looking—as near as Sid could tell—ashamed.

"Hey, no. Don't freak out. It's okay."

Geno jerked his head up with renewed interest.

"Totally fine, trust me. I'm just—freezing. Sorry."

Geno shook his mane and smacked his lips, mocking Sid for his inability to handle the chill, then turned his body toward the house like a slow-moving boat and plodded toward it. Sid followed in his wake. His feelings stirred inside him as though in a blender, a smoothie of relief that Geno felt better and regret for admitting he always liked the way Geno looked and—hope. He was shocked to find hope. Geno couldn't exactly _talk_ , but he had definitely kept the majority of his mind if his attitude was anything to go by. That meant it wasn't a horse getting off on the smell of his hair, but _Geno_. Maybe the feelings Sid had forced himself to banish when he was young weren't as unrequited as he had feared.

*****

Sid dreamed of Geno.

They were in a barn, but Geno was human. His lips were hungry against Sid’s, hungry _for_ Sid. He wouldn’t let up while Sid struggled with their clothes. He couldn’t get Geno’s breezers off—the tie was stuck. Sid rutted against the padded thigh with his naked dick, desperate for pressure.

Sid jolted awake and then jerked his hand away from the crotch of his sweats when he realized he was rubbing it. He didn’t even have to look to know he was caught. Geno nickered, low and heavy—an unreadable sound that could equally have been a laugh or encouragement. Sid chose to take the first option. It opened him up to considerably less humiliation down the road.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I haven’t been going at you for your fifth leg.”

Geno snorted and bobbed his head when Sid gestured at his erect dick hanging down, not really offended, but playing the part.

Sid kicked out of the blankets and jumped up, adjusting his dick as subtly as he could as he stood. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Geno’s dick twitch and grow impossibly longer while he walked away. Apparently, somebody liked the view.

Sid couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t going to jerk off as soon as he got the bathroom door closed. He braced a hand on the sink, knees trembling and eyes wedged shut while he pulled himself off. His mind conjured a tornado of scenarios. Geno on his knees. Geno, bare-assed in front of Sid. Geno kissing across Sid’s shoulders while he pushed inside.

Sid’s bracing arm nearly buckled with how hard it hit him when he came, flecking the bathroom cabinet carelessly and leaving himself a mess to clean up.

That much was fine—he could wipe up quickly enough. What was more concerning, and what he thought of while brushing his teeth, was that he couldn’t remember whether he had made any noise. He froze with the bristles resting on his back molars, eyes on his own concerned face in the mirror. He usually didn’t, but he also usually didn’t have freight train orgasms that left him grasping for clear memories of the next few minutes.

He shook his head—he probably didn’t. And even if he did, he couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. He had to go out and scoop grain into Geno’s bowl, make himself breakfast, and get on the road to practice.

When Sid forced himself to leave the bathroom, Geno was still in the living room. His perked ears followed Sid’s progress across the room. Sid couldn’t entirely read him, but the amount of interest in Geno’s body language—not to mention the still half-hard horse dick hanging down—made it far more likely that Sid had given himself away.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Sid asked, covering his embarrassment. “The usual?”

Geno snorted and looked away from him haughtily. His only option was grain, which he had not liked from the beginning and now found himself eating twice a day.

Sid chuckled on his way to the kitchen, but he sympathized. After he scooped Geno’s feed, he cut up an apple to mix in.

“Hopefully, that makes it taste better,” he said when he delivered it. “Spoonful of sugar, you know?”

Sid expected Geno to shake his mane or sigh—use the only communication he had to indicate that it didn’t help. Instead, Geno looked at him for a long beat, then bumped Sid’s chest with his nose gratefully before he bent to eat.

“You got it, buddy,” Sid said, fondness overtaking the last of his humiliation. If Geno had heard him jerking off, which seemed more plausible than not, he certainly didn’t seem to mind. It was a small comfort which brought with it many follow-up questions, ones more nuanced than the simple yes or no answers Geno could provide as a horse.

Sid got to the practice rink half an hour earlier than usual and went straight to Sully’s office. When he knocked, Sully’s distracted voice called out, “It’s open.”

Sully didn’t look up until Sid closed the door behind him. Then, he hit Sid with a pinched frown. “What’s wrong? Geno—”

“He’s fine,” Sid said, heading him off from thinking Geno was sick or injured. “He’s just—really sick of being a horse.”

Sully’s face smoothed out when he gathered it wasn’t an emergency. “Yeah, well, he’s not in that boat alone. We’ll miss the hell out of him on the power play tomorrow.”

Sid took a halting couple of steps forward, and some of the worry crept back into Sully’s face. “You don’t think he’ll be back by tomorrow?”

“Even if he’s human, he won’t be game ready. He’s been a horse for, what, three, four days—”

“Six,” Sid said sullenly.

“Six days. In diet alone, he’s been a hardcore vegan for almost a week. We aren’t just throwing him onto the ice with a prayer. He’ll need time.”

“But they’re close? It’s possible?”

Sully threw his pen down and sat back to study Sid intently before he answered. “I mean, sure. Anything’s possible.”

“Coach, come on,” Sid said, and the weary pleading in his tone must have struck a nerve because he watched Sully’s walls come down.

Sully heaved a sigh and shook his head wryly. “Yeah, sorry. I know you’re in it with him. I don’t have a lot for you, but—truth is, the magicians are stumped. They’re at a dead end.”

“But we _know_ the curse is on Errey.”

“Sure, yeah. And we know how to cure Errey—”

“Well, what’s the problem then?”

“The problem is if we cure Errey, we have no idea if Geno will go back. Curses like this, the secondary changes made, the stuff he created—it normally stays. Lifting the curse only changes his ability to keep altering reality, but it wouldn’t reverse the things he already did.”

Sid scrubbed his hand across his face and groaned. “Geno could get stuck as a horse.”

“That’s our fear. So, we’ve done what we can for damage control. Errey is on a strict no metaphors diet, but until we can turn Horny’s collection of summer Olympics gear back into hockey sticks, Geno’s going to keep having four legs.”

Sid let himself slump back against the closed door, unable to support his own weight under the added pressure of the news that Geno would stay a farm animal for an indeterminate amount of time. Sid felt the twinge in his shoulder from sleeping on the couch—the dawning of a potential injury somehow the least of his worries. Geno would remain a horse, which meant they couldn’t talk.

“Sid—” Sully started and then obviously cut himself off. When Sid dragged his eyes up from their unfocused view of the rug, he found Sully watching him intently, hands folded under his chin. “Look. Why don’t you take the day off, go do something for yourself. Hell, go _home_.”

“No,” Sid said, a kneejerk sharpness in his voice.

“Not forever. I’m not asking you to abandon him. Just for a while. Go take a nap in your own bed and get your head right. You look fucking exhausted.”

There was no denying it. Fatigue wrapped around Sid like tentacles, pulling him down. If he so much as closed his eyes, it would draw him under the surface and down to the depths of sleep.

“Sid,” Sully continued, voice as gentle as Sid had ever heard. “The fact that you’re not pitching a fit at me right now about missing practice means you need a rest, and you know it.”

“No, I can—”

Sully cut him off with a stern look, immovable. “We’re down a center, don’t make it two.”

“You’ll bench me?” Sid said with a disbelieving laugh.

Sully shrugged heartlessly, neither confirming nor outwardly denying. Even though Sid didn’t really think he would, it was the final motivation he needed to duck his head and give in.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll go get a nap.”

“Atta boy. See you bright and early tomorrow.

“Sure,” Sid said with a wry shake of his head. He could already tell he would be grateful to Sully once his initial outrage passed. “See you tomorrow.”

Sid didn’t fool himself for a second that he was driving anywhere but Geno’s house. As much as a nap in his own bed appealed to him, the guilt of leaving Geno alone on top of missing practice would wreck his sleep quality. He would just sleep on the opposite shoulder on the hard couch, give the sore one a break.

Geno came charging around the house like he was shaking his gloves at an on-ice irritant when Sid pulled up, clearly expecting someone else. His pinned-back ears swiveled forward when he saw Sid’s car instead of an intruder.

“What would you have done if I was the UPS guy, eh?” Sid called, chuckling as he got out of the car and watching Geno prance the final few meters between them. “He would have shit himself.”

Geno snorted, tossed his mane to dismiss the concern, and craned his nose out to Sid’s left hand.

“What?”

Geno nudged Sid’s wrist twice before Sid lifted it and looked at his watch.

“Oh, right. I’m way early. Coach’s orders. Sully thinks I’m tired.”

Geno jerked his head up with a grunt—either alarmed or irritated, it was tough to interpret.

“Yeah, well. You know me—I’m not going to turn down an excuse to sleep.”

Geno followed Sid up to the house and through the front door. Only, when Sid started for his spot on the couch, Geno carefully circled around him and got in his way.

“G?”

Geno made a rumbly noise and nudged at Sid with his nose hard enough to make Sid step back.

“What are you doing?”

Geno nudged him again, and Sid took another step.

“Kicking me out?” Sid asked, laughing even though he was uncertain what was going on.

Geno shook his head and nudged Sid again. Then he nodded toward the stairs.

“What do you want me to go up there for?”

The sound Geno made was unmistakably frustrated. It reminded Sid of Geno’s rookie year when he would string together a couple of English words before the sentence flew away from him, and he floundered, unable to convey his thoughts. Sid was always pretty good at getting the drift back then. He just needed to think—why would Geno want him to go upstairs?

“You want me to go take a nap in bed?”

At that, Geno bobbed his head in exaggerated approval.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll just crash down here with you.”

When Geno nudged at him again, Sid set his hands on the sides of Geno’s huge head. He could chalk it up to exhaustion and stress and the weird circumstances when he put his forehead against Geno’s.

“It’s just for a little while longer, okay,” Sid said, breathing in the musty smell of the horse hair tickling his nostrils. “We’ll make it.”

Geno nibbled at his shirt but conceded. He let Sid get around him to go to the couch.

“Little nap, then we have work to do,” Sid said. “I’ll call Flower. He’ll have a couple good ideas, I bet.”

Sid dropped off before he could see how Geno reacted.

*****

Sid woke up hard again. In any other context, he wouldn’t call twice a pattern, but when his dreams nebulously involved the pouty lips of his teammate wrapped around his cock—twice was plenty enough to be concerned. He dared not move, hoping he could sneak out of the room before Geno caught him.

But it was the middle of the day. Sid was sleeping because his coach sent him home to nap, but Geno was wide awake. He stood in the middle of the living room, eyes fixed on Sid intently. As Sid stared at him, unsure what move to make, Geno nosed toward him, nostrils flared to catch his smell.

“You, ah,” Sid said, scrambling for something to say. “Telling me I smell bad?”

Geno shook his mane back and forth like a shampoo commercial and took a lumbering step toward Sid, nose stretched out as far as it would go.

“You think I smell _good_?”

Dumb question, Sid thought, looking at the horse dick nearly touching the rug. God, the thing looked even bigger this time. Clearly, Geno thought he smelled spectacular. 

Geno rumbled at him, a sound Sid had come to know as an inquisitive one. He wanted something. Sid propped up on his elbow to squint curiously up at him.

“What’s up?”

Geno huffed and took a final step to put his nose in touching range. He used the new proximity to nudge against the bulge in Sid’s shorts.

“Whoa, hey,” Sid said, reaching to push Geno’s nose back. His heart raced while his head spun off in two directions. On the one hand, holy shit, Geno touched his dick. But on the other, it wasn’t really _Geno_ , at least not in body.

Geno held there, frozen, with Sid’s hand on his nose. He looked scolded. Sid slowly started stroking his nose instead of holding it back.

“Okay,” Sid said breathlessly before he could come to his senses. Geno’s ears swung around to point directly at him. Sid swallowed and pulled his hand off Geno’s nose. He eased himself back onto the couch. His stomach remained clenched when he settled, his whole body tense. “It’s okay.”

Geno stared at him for a long time, gauging how much permission Sid was giving him, before he moved again. His alien eyes stayed locked on Sid’s face even as he nudged his nose closer to Sid’s crotch.

Sid’s breath shook audibly when Geno nosed against his dick again. “Fuck, what are we doing?” he muttered. They hadn’t talked. They _couldn’t_ talk.

Geno paused, waiting to see if Sid would reach again to push him away. When Sid made no move, Geno twitched his gigantic, soft lips.

Sid threw his arm over his eyes, but blocking out the view couldn’t fool his senses. It felt distinctly _not human_ , the undulating pressure of Geno’s herbivore mouth, dexterous in ways human lips could never duplicate.

When Geno realized Sid wasn’t stopping him, his hesitant motions became more eager. His lips moved like snakes across Sid’s dick, which shouldn’t be any sexier than a horse, but Sid struggled to keep his hips still.

A soft smacking sound sent heat up Sid when Geno opened his mouth and let his huge, muscular tongue roll out. He dared to look down and found Geno gently lapping at the bulge in Sid’s shorts. The tongue probably bigger than Sid’s dick, which sent a throb of guilty arousal through him.

The guilt didn’t outweigh the desire to see, though.

“Hey, uh—” Sid started and then stopped. He swallowed against the shutoff valve in his throat trying to stop him from saying it. “You mind?” he asked, hooking his thumbs into his shorts.

Geno did _not_ mind. He barely let Sid get his shorts pulled down before he dove in, lips and tongue action working in high definition without the cloth in the way. Sid let him lip and lathe his cock until it felt bathed in spit and throbbing, almost painful with the need to get off.

“G, come on. Let me.”

Sid had to fight Geno a little for access to his dick, but he got his hand around it. It only took a couple of practiced strokes to push him over.

It was only in the off-kilter afterglow that Sid realized he entirely forgot to check whether Geno’s tongue was longer than his dick.

Speaking of dick size, Sid turned his apprehensive attention to the situation between Geno’s hind legs, strategizing about returning the favor. But he found Geno’s dick shriving back into its sheath, as though Geno got as much satisfaction from Sid’s pleasure as Sid himself.

“Holy shit, G.”

Geno made a happy snorting sound and bent to touch his lips to Sid’s cock once more, tail swishing like he was thrilled simply to be allowed to cross that boundary.

“Yeah,” Sid agreed with the sentiment. “Wow.”

Geno put his nose on Sid’s stomach and let Sid pet his soft fur while his breathing slowed. His ears were the only thing on him that moved, slowly turning radars. He seemed perfectly content to stay there forever with Sid stroking his nose. 

If Sid closed his eyes and let his mind wander, he could almost imagine Geno’s back under his fingertips instead, his normal, human body splayed naked over Sid’s. Normally, he would banish those types of fantasies. He had long ago realized that indulging them only made them grow. With Geno’s lips on his stomach, in the afterglow of something he wasn’t ready to deal with—Sid let himself float away on the dream. 

They spent the day relaxing together, watching a movie after lunch and taking a long walk. Sid put on a baseball game and dozed off leaning up against Geno’s big body. He woke up from his second nap of the day, finally feeling refreshed. The only time they were apart was when Sid spent some time in the sauna, steaming the nights on the couch out of his muscles.

All told, Sid managed not to have a total existential crisis about getting a blow job from a horse until the evening. Geno went to frolic in the back yard with his endless horse energy and Sid called Flower.

“How are things?” Flower asked, and unexpectedly, the stoicism holding back Sid’s anxiety broke.

“I, uh,” Sid said, wiping a hand over his face. “I need you to fix him.”

“Who?” Flower said, the innocence in his voice frosted with mischief.

“Flower,” Sid said—he tried to make his voice convey a warning, but he thought he only succeeded in sounding exhausted.

After a pause, Flower spoke again in a softer, sympathetic tone. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know. _He_ knows, but—we really need it to be over now. The magic guys here are stumped. Nobody knows what to do. But I’m asking you. Please fix him.”

“Sid, honestly. I have no idea,” Flower said. He sounded frustrated, like he was tired of telling people that. “I have been working with the team. I told them exactly what I did. We have done every reversal we know on the baseball bat, but it—well.”

“Well, what?” Sid asked.

“We—set it on fire.”

“Oh my god.”

“That’s why we couldn’t experiment on Geno.”

Sid slumped back against the kitchen counter. “You don’t have any other ideas? I really need him back.”

“Have you tried kissing him?” Flower asked.

Sid jerked in shock. Was it that obvious that they had hooked up? “No, what? Why would I?”

“Like a frog.”

Sid relaxed. “Right. No, I think that only works with princes.”

“Which Geno is _definitely_ not—he curses too much.”

“Princes don’t curse? You sure?”

“I have two little girls, my friend. I can tell you everything about princes.”

“Okay, you’re the authority.”

“Unless you just _want_ to kiss him,” Flower said suggestively.

If Flower could see Sid, there was no way he wouldn’t catch on to how close he was hitting. He thought he was teasing Sid for an old crush, not current and confusing events. Thankfully, it was not a video call, so Sid could get away with weakly proclaiming, “Yeah, right.”

“Seriously, Sid. I know this is hard, but we’re working on it. I’m not giving up.”

“You better not.”

“Now, I can’t promise I will rush to get him back until you fall out of playoff contention—”

“Bye Flower,” Sid said with an exaggerated tone of put-upon annoyance.

“Night, Sid. Hang in there.”

*****

Geno woke Sid up nosing at his dick, and Sid came into consciousness, mumbling, “No, gameday.”

It was the same thing he’d done to partners in the past, earning a lot of irritation, but never a horse. When he cracked his eyes open, he found Geno hovering over him, an amused giant.

“You don’t seriously get off before games,” Sid said, squinting at him.

Geno bobbed his head emphatically yes.

“God, I thought I knew you,” Sid said, shoving his blanket back to get up. He ran an affectionate hand down Geno’s neck on the way past him.

So, okay. He leaned on the bathroom sink while he came to terms with things. Geno thought they were something. He thought they were a _repeat_ something. If Sid didn’t have rules, they would have had sex again.

Sid would have had sex twice with a _horse_. He didn’t dare google the definition of bestiality.

Thankfully, gamedays provided a structure for Sid to throw himself into. Instead of dwelling on what was happening between him and Geno, he could concentrate on getting breakfast and getting out the door for skate and meetings.

“Hey, so. I’m probably going to get a nap at home today,” Sid said on his way out. “I can send Tanger over if you need company.”

Geno jerked his head up, as though offended by the reality-based idea that he might freak out if he was left alone.

“Sorry, bud. Just—trying to win a game, you know?”

After a pause, Geno bobbed his head in a nod. It was hard to tell whether he actually bought it or if he could see right through Sid. Maybe he could tell Sid was on the verge.

“I’ll be back tonight, I promise.” No matter how stressed the situation was making him, Sid couldn’t leave Geno alone at night, seeing how badly it scared him the first time.

Geno nudged Sid’s stomach with his nose. Despite his roiling anxiety, Sid slid his hand onto Geno’s soft cheek and stroked it. A faint rumble in Geno’s throat sounded very affectionate.

Again, Sid felt wrong during practice. He dragged himself into his gear in the right order, but he felt wobbly on his skates. He thought it would improve once he got onto the ice, the cold air clearing away his troubles, but if anything, he only got more distracted. Every shot he launched went wide of the net. When he caught an edge and went down by the bench, Sid let the jeers of his teammates escort him off the ice. There was no point.

Sid ostensibly kept his eyes on the screen when the team met to prepare for the night’s opponent, breaking down plays and talking strategy, but his mind stayed buzzing away. It was not looking good for his performance that night or any other night if he didn’t do something.

When Sid got home to his own house, it felt like the end of summer after a long time away. His housekeeper had gathered his mail from the box and left it on the counter. He ignored it and instead went to his den to fire up his DVR. For all his chirping at Geno for recording the games, he did the same thing.

Sid found the game—god, only a week ago—where Errey had accidentally cursed Geno. He fast-forwarded until he got to the snow cone. He watched himself smile back at Jon, laughing about it. Then Horney’s stick turned into a bat. Sid fast-forwarded again until Geno hit the ice for his goal.

Despite knowing exactly what would happen, Sid held his breath, watching Geno power himself through the opposing defense for that goal. Geno was a walking highlight reel, and the goal was beautiful enough that Sid could almost forget what happened next.

“And that’s how you find out you can’t stop the racehorse,” Errey’s voice exclaimed on the tape. “Evgeni Malkin—an absolute Thoroughbred!”

Geno’s knees hit the ice, and Sid’s blood ran cold. He could see Geno’s face, the gut-punched reaction he had to the broadcast words though he couldn’t hear them.

Sid forced himself to rewind and watch it again.

It took a dozen times for Sid to stop having a visceral reaction, to calm down, and think clearly about what he was seeing. Errey said the words—called Geno a Thoroughbred. They had tried a dozen different ways to phrase it to turn Geno back into a human—man, human, even Russian.

But that had been at Geno’s house. Sid paused the video and sat up. 

Errey was a pretty hyperbolic guy just in general, but he hadn’t mentioned anything strange going on at his house. He presumably hadn’t turned any of his children into houseplants or bicycles while spouting off at home. He hadn’t cut a path of carnage through Pittsburgh by spawning brick walls on the bridges or literally making it rain cats and dogs.

“It’s the broadcast,” Sid said to himself, heart racing. He would never get to sleep for his nap now, but it didn’t matter. He figured it out. Errey needed to say it on air.

*****

Sid’s announcement left a room full of silent people staring at him in varying degrees of doubt and misery. He had called everyone together three hours before the game to brainstorm a plan of action to get Geno back to normal. Now, with Sully, Jim, Errey, Mearsy, Dr. Vyas, and the three magicians staring at him like he clearly had a screw loose, Sid lost steam.

Errey cleared his throat and sat forward. “You want me to say it on air?”

“Yes,” Sid said, projecting the strength of his conviction even as it waned. “And I think you should do it during the play. Might have something to do with the number of people who hear it or something.”

Sully pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sid—”

“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but we’ve tried everything else.”

“No,” Sully said, raising his hands for Sid to stop. “It doesn’t sound crazy. It sounds—unfortunate. Bob, I’m sorry, but I think he’s right.”

Errey cut an uncertain look around the room. “How will I work that into a broadcast, guys? Geno’s not even here.”

“I could maybe set you up for it,” Mearsy said skeptically.

Errey nodded his thanks and shrugged. His grim expression lifted into a weak smile. “Well, boys. What’s the worst that can happen? The whole city will just think I’ve lost my mind.”

“Aw, Bob. Don’t worry about that,” Jim said, humor glinting in his eyes. “They’ve thought that for years.”

Tension flowed out of Sid as the room filled with relieved laughter. They all thought it would work, including the tittering magicians who were excitedly whispering among themselves. With any luck, by the time Sid stepped off the ice after the game, Geno would be back to normal.

The looming unknown slowed time to a crawl. Sid fought his way through his pregame, feeling the lack of nap and days of poor sleep building up on him. He watched the wall clock while he jogged on a treadmill, warming up his legs. It barely seemed to move at all. He paced the halls in slow motion for what felt like days until it was finally time to get into his gear.

Sid tried to fight for control of his mind once they got onto the ice, but the distraction was too engrained. It was carved deep into his psyche by the time he took a couple of warm-up laps and grabbed a puck. He lost it during his private handling drills, and it drifted over to Jake. Jake flicked it back with a grin, not quite covering his real concern.

“New routine?” Jake asked, providing Sid a joking excuse.

“For sure. We’ll have to do it every time if we win.”

But they decidedly did not win. With Sid on edge the whole game thinking about when Errey might say it, he played distracted. He turned the puck over and missed the net with shots. His defensive positioning always seemed to be two strides short, putting him on the ice for three of six goals against.

Between periods, Sid checked his phone, something he would never normally do. His heart sank both times when he had no texts. He held out hope that perhaps Errey would say it in the third.

At the end of the game, Sid dragged himself back to the locker room and checked his phone before he stripped out of his jersey. Nothing. He threw his phone back into its spot in bitter frustration.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jake tried to comfort him. “We’ll get the next one.”

Sid nodded and stripped out of his gear. He had to get showered and ready to go back to Geno’s house for another night of sleeping on the couch with a horse.

Only, when Sid drove through the gate, something was different. He looked at the house, moderately concerned about what could have changed, and noticed—had there always been lights on upstairs?

Sid opened the front door and immediately noticed that the trail of towels was gone. His heart bounced around his ribcage like a pinball. He could hear the sound of the washing machine from the laundry room as he made his way inside. He could see that the back door—perpetually open since Geno needed access to outside—was now closed.

His back was turned to the stairs when he heard footsteps on them. He almost didn’t dare turn around for fear that it would be someone other than Geno.

But Sid convinced his body to turn just as Geno—two-legged, _human_ Geno—paused halfway down the stairs at the sight of him. They stared at each other, too overwhelmed to make a move.

“Geno,” Sid breathed. His exclamation broke the frozen moment between them and brought Geno trotting down the rest of the stairs into his arms. Geno squeezed Sid like he wanted to mold their bodies together, a feeling Sid definitely endorsed. “I wasn’t sure it worked. You didn’t text.”

“My phone,” Geno said in a weak voice, like maybe he was still getting used to speaking again. “It’s at arena—maybe. I don’t have.”

“Shit,” Sid said, turning his heating face into Geno’s shoulder with embarrassment that he caused his own panic. “That’s my fault. I got your stuff that night. I didn’t grab it.”

Geno’s hands roamed over Sid’s back before he pulled reluctantly away. “You fix this?”

“Well, kind of. Errey did the work. I just asked him to try something. I realized—you know, the first spell hit during a broadcast. Made sense he would need to say it on air.”

“That’s why you go today?” Geno asked. “You say you nap at home. You want talk to Errey?”

Sid shrugged a little sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure you’d be down to watch the tape again, you know? I needed to figure things out, get you back. I _really_ needed you back.”

Geno nodded, but he didn’t look entirely placated. He shoved his hands into his shorts pockets and hunched up to admit, “I’m scared when you go.”

“Scared?”

Geno shrugged and did not elaborate.

“Because I left?”

“I think—maybe. You’re freaked out.”

Sid’s laugh burst out of him in breathy waves. “Buddy, you have no idea. I was so freaked out.”

Geno didn’t laugh. He moved his mouth uncertainly and hunched up more. “Because, like—what? I touch you?”

“No, Geno, that’s not—I _want_ you to touch me. But, you know. You were a horse! It was weird. I didn’t want to like get a fetish or something. I wanted you back so we could—you know.”

Geno’s eyes came up from the floor, dawning with interest. “Know?”

“Don’t make me spell it out. I didn’t want to get off with a horse again. I wanted—”

“Me,” Geno said, a relieved smile pulling at his face.

“Yeah. If that’s, you know. Something you’re into.”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Geno said with the smile growing out of control. “You can kiss me, then see.”

“Are you making me try out to fuck you?” Sid asked.

Geno shrugged remorselessly. “Maybe you not so good at kissing, I don’t know. You need practice first? Warm-up?”

Sid reached for Geno’s hand to pull him in close and tipped up on his socked toes to yank him into a kiss. Geno met him hungrily, with no sign of his previous playful coyness.

“Well?” Sid asked, pulling back only enough to speak.

“You pass first round,” Geno said, but his attempt to give Sid a hard time got pretty buried under how breathless he sounded. He seemed as awed and overwhelmed by their situation as Sid was, eager to seal their mouths back together.

“Hey, G?”

“What?”

“Let’s go upstairs, eh?”

“Upstairs?” Geno repeated dumbly, making no move toward the stairs.

“I want to return the favor, from before,” Sid said pointedly, hoping he didn’t have to spell out _when you sucked my dick as a farm animal_.

Thankfully, the light came on for Geno, and he eagerly pulled away. His hand fell into Sid’s to tug him along.

Geno stripped out of his clothes with the shamelessness of somebody who had been in locker rooms most of his life. Even with Sid watching, he had no embarrassment about baring his body and crashing onto the bed in the nude.

“Comfortable?” Sid asked. Geno met his teasing with an unabashed shrug.

“You still dressed? Points off,” Geno said with a disapproving sniff.

“I’m still being tested?”

“Yes, it’s test.”

Sid chuckled and shucked his shirt off. He pushed his shorts down to join them in a cloth puddle on the floor to crawl onto the bed.

Geno’s dick wasn’t exactly two feet long anymore, but it was hardly minuscule—even at half-mast. Sid surreptitiously took a glance at it as he moved to lay down beside Geno before realizing he was allowed to look. He was allowed to do more.

Geno groaned when Sid cupped his growing dick and stroked it up toward his stomach while he moved to kiss him. Sid could feel as the shaft grew rigid under his touch, pushing back against his palm.

“Anything I can do to get some points back, ace the test?” Sid asked, feeling giddy at being able to touch Geno like this—his oldest fantasy. He had harbored this crush, off and on, for over twelve years. And here he was, stroking his palm up the underside of Geno’s dick and swirling his thumb around the head to spread the moisture there.

“That’s good,” Geno said simply, like he was grateful just to have Sid touching him. Sid wondered how long he had also been hanging onto something deep.

“Only good? We don’t want that.”

Geno clutched at him when he started to move away. Sid paused in his mission to kiss him again, savoring the wet slide of Geno’s tongue against his own until he was more than ready for something else to occupy that space.

Sid pressed down on Geno’s chest to keep him on his back and shuffled his way down to eye level with Geno’s dick—pink and flushed and human. He watched a bead of moisture gather at the tip and dove in to lick it off.

“Shit, Sid,” Geno said with a shaking exhale. He sounded so affected by the simple touch of Sid’s tongue against his cock. It made Sid excited to see how Geno would react when Sid put his whole mouth on it.

Geno’s fingers clutched the sheets on either side of his hips when Sid put his lips over the head like a lollipop—a big fucking lollipop. His jaw would definitely be sore in the morning, a thought that sent an anticipatory shiver through him.

Sid laved his tongue against the underside of Geno’s cock while he worked his way down, using the noises Geno made as roadmaps to further his pleasure.

When his jaw needed a rest, Sid reared back to run his lips along the head while he stroked the shaft with his hand. “Blowing you is getting me so hard,” Sid said while pressing his dick down into the mattress. The dry sheets didn’t do much for him, but it was pressure.

“Switch?” Geno said with undeniable eagerness.

“Fuck no,” Sid said, laughing breathlessly against Geno’s cockhead. “I want to suck you while I jerk off and see which one of us comes first.”

By Geno’s groan, Sid assumed he liked that idea. Sid’s jaw felt recuperated enough to go again, so he put his hand to use on his own dick and swallowed Geno down.

Sid was right at the edge when Geno’s noises became more urgent. Geno’s hand grasped at Sid’s arm and his back arched before his dick began to pulse. The hot gush across Sid’s tongue felt like a victory, and nothing felt better than winning. He jerked himself the rest of the way before Geno’s hips finished twitching.

Sid crawled up Geno’s body like a heavy alligator and slumped down to kiss him. He didn’t even think to ask if Geno wanted him to go rinse his mouth first, but Geno didn’t turn away. He eagerly parted his lips against Sid’s, heedless of the taste of his own release in Sid’s mouth.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted—” Sid cut himself off before he could say too much, but thankfully Geno picked up the thread.

“Me too. Want long time. Just think it’s maybe too scary to say.”

“All it took was a week as a barnyard animal,” Sid said with a breathless laugh that Geno thankfully shared.

“Maybe this is why, huh?”

“You think you got turned into a horse so we could hook up?”

Geno’s eyes looked very soft, maybe a little afraid about Sid’s flippant tone. He shrugged instead of talking.

“It’s going to take a lot of dates to be worth it, eh?”

“Date or hook up?” Geno asked—so it was the choice of words that put him off.

“All of the above. There were lots of ways to get us together. Flower chose the worst one.”

Geno shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe not _worst_. Make you come sleep here in my house, stay with me. Be nice to me.”

“I’m always nice to you,” Sid scoffed with a light smack on Geno’s chest for the slander. Geno made a doubtful face, but it morphed into a soft smile when he shuffled close for a kiss.

*****

Sid felt like he could see Flower’s smug expression from the airport when they landed in Las Vegas. They were coming from Arizona after an early game, so the team had no plans for them beyond getting them to the hotel. Flower knew they would be free for the evening and pounced before Sid had even left the arena in Glendale.

“We are getting a sitter to meet you for dinner,” Flower had said over the phone when Sid answered. “I’ll text you the address.”

“You don’t need a sitter,” Sid scoffed. “The girls can come.”

“No, it’s too late. And I want to hear everything about you and Geno. Bring him.”

“I’ll _ask_ him but he’s still pretty mad at you,” Sid teased, in Geno’s hearing range just a few steps ahead of him on the way toward the team bus. Geno perked and slowed to match Sid’s pace. 

“Yes, very mad,” Geno said, tongue firmly in cheek. He hadn’t loved being a horse, but it had its perks. “Tell him we fight tomorrow.”

“We can fight tonight at dinner,” Flower said, having caught enough of Geno’s words. He sounded utterly unworried about Geno’s temper. “I will see you both, okay? Goodbye.”

Sid had hung up with a chuckle and shrugged. “I guess we’re going to dinner.”

They got their stuff situated in two adjoining rooms, an aspirational attempt to keep up appearances. Geno didn’t care at all, but Sid insisted that they at least look like they were doing the same thing as everyone else, even though pretty much everyone knew they would end up in a single room together. It hadn’t taken long for the news to spread, an oil spill of gossip that spread across the locker room. At this point, Sid was pretty sure the only people who didn’t believe he and Geno were dating were the ones who firmly didn’t want to know. 

Geno met him in the lobby with a brightness in his eyes that Sid immediately didn’t trust. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing, just happy to go. Come, I have the car.”

Sid followed him, full of suspicion, to the valet. Geno took the keys and slid behind the wheel before Sid could put up a protest about driving. “What are you up to?” Sid asked, buckling into the passenger seat. 

Geno didn’t try to protest again, only grinned. He poked the address for the restaurant in by memory, which Sid probably should have seen as a sign of bad things to come. 

They pulled into the parking lot, and Geno swung the car around to the back of the building. Sid sat up straight at the sight of a horse trailer. 

“No,” he said, a smile dawning. “You did not get a fucking horse.”

Geno leered over at him. 

“G, I can’t take a _horse_ into the restaurant with me.”

“You don’t take me out?” Geno teased, parking next to the trailer. Sid could see a big, dark-colored horse with a stranger standing there. “Your boyfriend, you don’t like? You don’t take me to dinner only because I’m horse?”

Sid groaned. “How did you even get a horse at nine-thirty?”

“Vegas baby,” Geno answered, clowning away with his smile as he kicked open the door. Sid pulled in a big breath and sighed it out, fighting a smile.

“Here we go,” Sid said to himself, and clambered out of the car to help Geno get his revenge.


End file.
